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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352970">A Mechanical Heartbeat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure112/pseuds/azure112'>azure112</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Banana Bus Squad, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, lasting damage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:09:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352970</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure112/pseuds/azure112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The result of a war was a mechanical body that was barely even able to breathe. Brian had suffered some lasting damage, both to his mental and physical wellbeing.</p><p>The least Brock could do was help mend his fractured heart.</p><p>-continuation of Lasting Damage</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brock Barrus/Brian Hanby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There's nothing that he can do. There is no way for him to save it.</p><p>Brock's only option now is to wait for better news.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> If waiting is all I've ever done, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Is waiting all that I'm ever going to do? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If I wait right here, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will fate lead me back to you? </em>
</p><p>_____</p><p>For the entirety of the Banana Bus Squad, life was nothing more than video games and having fun. The definition of the latter tended to vary from person to person, with some embracing the feeling with laughter while some others returning it with rage. Regardless, as long as they were together, both requirements were constantly being met.</p><p>Brock was a part of the crew, and the mom of the group; forever concerned and worrying for his overgrown children. His friendships were in full bloom, and he was content with where life had landed him. Things were near perfect.</p><p>However, over the years that had passed in the time they knew one another, Brock had begun to notice a few peculiar happenings that he was only starting to learn how to accept.</p><p>For one, he hung out with Brian the most, constantly drawn to him by a force of attraction that he couldn't quite define. Maybe they were closer friends, but everyone recognised that the Irishman was an arsehole. And, for the matter, he bullied Brock the most when playing together, especially in games he excelled in, like Mario Kart and Golf It. No one could have expected their chemistry to work.</p><p>However, whenever it was just the two of them, all alone and away from everyone else, something seemed to change. Brian's voice was that much softer, and his tone was so much kinder. When Discord displayed that the Terroriser was active, Brock would feel his heart flutter slightly. A fleeting sensation that he couldn't afford to hold onto. Eventually, he cut those ties, and tried to hold onto him as a friend. They didn't talk outside of play sessions, unless Brian was up at an awful time on his end of the world.</p><p>But then, his silence began to persist. What had initially been decided upon as an act of defiance or stubbornness was quickly revealed to be something else entirely. When word of his whereabouts turned into whispers of concern, someone reluctantly came forth to disclose the truth.</p><p>By then, it had been months since Brian had left for the front lines, being called upon by the government to assist the military in the fighting that had ensued. They had known that he had a background in the army, but never did they think that it would return to try and claim him once more.</p><p>David had shared the news, but only weeks after his sudden disappearance. He had disclosed, with a severity that they didn't know he could have, the fact that the man was hoping to leave without making a mark. Without dampening any spirits, he was hoping to come back before his absence could be felt. And, that he had thought himself to be insignificant enough for no one to notice.</p><p>But Brian's sudden disappearance was obvious; after all, the calls had become much quieter without him to ruin the day. And, it became quieter still when his departure was announced formally. The asshole hadn't even said goodbye, and the group had already made up the mind to give him hell about it when they saw him next.</p><p>However, those weeks turned into months, and nights spent waiting for the fateful reunion turned into prayers for his safe arrival. Brock had, more than any of his friends, fallen into a state of worry. He wondered, and hoped, with all his might, that Brian would reach home safely. There were so many things left unsaid, that he wanted to relay with honesty. Why had they talked so often? And why had they stopped? He was afraid to admit that it was fear and shame that had driven him away in the first place.</p><p>As he sat in his chair, facing the blacked out screen of his monitor, he took a moment to study his reflection; the constant strain and worry had manifested into dark circles underneath his eyes. His hair was unkempt, and he sighed, running his fingers through to untangle a few strands, wherever he could. How ironic that he of all people should start to look this way. He was realising now that he had taken Brian's presence for granted.</p><p>He laughed bitterly to himself as he recollected the feelings that had begun to rise over the years that they had been together; he could remember the sensation of his own fluttering heart as he reaffirmed the incentive to cherish every smile, every laugh and every memory. Brock knew, somewhere down the lines that he had fallen, and he was realising now that he had taken every single moment for granted.</p><p>Those were moments that were now forever lost to time. Living on, only as memories in his own fractured mind. Did Brian recall a single thing? Or was it as one sided as it seemed?</p><p>As selfish as it was, he hoped for his friend's safety.</p><p><em> How many times had he yelled at him? </em> Brock hated to think that he was carrying that negativity to the battlefield. What if it were with those words that he perished? What if his last memories were of a fight? What if he had already reached the point of no return?</p><p>He held his head in his hands, and heaved a heavy sigh. Those concerns were to arise <em> if </em> Brian were to die. He wouldn't. He better not. There was no way that he would leave them all behind. No way.</p><p>However, despite all of the wishful thinking that Brock could muster, he knew that things were out of their hands. No one had any control over what would happen out there, in the hostile world of war. No one could tell who lived or died.</p><p>All he hoped for now was that Brian was at least trying his best to survive.</p><p>_____</p><p>Soft breaths condensed at a moment's notice, quickly rising up in the cold morning air. Brock wrapped his arms around himself as he watched the steam rise in front of him. It was cold, but he didn't care.</p><p>The hospital had an atmosphere that was far from welcoming. The halls were cold and empty, echoing only the cries of the deceased as they were dragged on a bed from room to room. Brian was in one such bed, fighting desperately to hang on, and stay alive. Brock held his head in his hands, and hoped silently that he would make it.</p><p>His every heartbeat was recorded in a machine, and the device rang in rhythm with his heart. Brock listened closely to the sound, and learnt the pattern. The sound was driving him insane, but he prayed that it didn't stop. That it would never stop. What was a little bit of noise, if it meant that his friend was alive? He relished the sound, because it was the only thing that gave him hope that the man in the bed could possibly survive.</p><p>Chances were slim, and every doctor had said the same. It had been days since they had retrieved the body, but Brian hadn't shown a single sign of waking up. However, Brock was more than willing to gamble for his survival, and he kept his heart on the line. All that awaited him at the end of his road was a world of relief, or a soul crushing heartbreak. Everyone visited periodically, but he did so most frequently.</p><p>Brock still remembered, with grim detail, the state in which the body had been found. On one fateful day, during a seemingly normal play session of Black Ops 3, David had left the call with very little warning, announcing to the others that he was receiving another.</p><p>"Hold on, guys! I'm receiving a phone call! I'll be back in a second!" he had hollered loudly, with only a few hums of acknowledgement returning to him in response. Satisfied either ways, he quickly left the call.</p><p>No one had batted an eye as the all too familiar sound rang in everybody's headsets, and the remainder of the group kept playing without another hitch. Evan dared to comment on how glad he was that the man had left. After many, many rounds and a victory underway, someone finally decided to ask the Irishman what was up.</p><p>The line was almost dead silent even after he picked up the phone. "Nogla? You alright?" Brock finally prompted, and the signal cracked ever so slightly, making way for David to speak.</p><p>"So, Brian's in the hospital, and he isn't doing too good..."</p><p>There was a varying degree of horror in everyone's faces as they arrived to visit Brian, one by one. Half of his face was covered by bandages, but all of them could tell by the sickly black colour underneath that the man had suffered some severe burns. </p><p>People who lived close by were able to visit him when it had been announced that his legs and left arm had been completely immobilized, and suffered the pain of knowing that he likely wouldn't survive. Worse, however, was that even if he did, he wouldn't ever live a normal life. Amongst the first people to receive that news was Brock.</p><p>However, people who had to drive for miles, or book a flight, only got to see Brian after the decision to attach prosthetics had been made. In commemoration of his services, the Irishman had been given metal for limbs that were far from perfect, but still somewhat usable. The service heightened his chances of survival, but not by the greatest margin. There was not a single person who didn't react negatively to the metal plate that had been infused into his face.</p><p>Even as he sat in the room now, Brock couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene. He watched silently as Brian's chest rose and fell rhythmically, and kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. He was holding up alright for now, but he couldn't help but dread having to break to him what had happened. He hoped that his new limbs weren't too stiff or heavy, and that he would be able to function normally with the new technology.</p><p>But, once again, that was <em> if </em> he were to wake up.</p><p>There was something frustrating about the situation, in the fact that once again, Brock found himself completely helpless to do anything about it. He clenched his fist, and gritted his teeth, resisting every urge to yell out in frustration. No matter what he did, or how he pleaded, his options remained the same.</p><p>The only thing that he could do now was wait.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Awakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A metallic sound rings in the hallways of a hospital, echoing into the vast emptiness that it encompassed. Unassuming visitors step into a room, and it seems that the patient has finally woken up</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clank.</p><p>Clank.</p><p><em> Clank </em>.</p><p>As Brock traversed the empty halls, he couldn't help but notice that a peculiar sound rang in the air, slow and repeatedly. Metal crashed with metal, and as he walked deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of halls, he could tell that it was only getting louder.</p><p>Tyler and Anthony were behind him; the two had arrived only yesterday evening, minutes after visiting hours had already ended. They were eager to see Brian, and Brock had volunteered to escort them. The two shared a look when the sounds continued to persist, cfeeling both onfused and concerned, though they couldn't be seen right now. David and Evan were walking beside Brock, also leading the way. As they approached Brian's room, the sound had reached its peak; there was no denying that it was coming from inside. Brock shot a nervous glance at his friends, who could only shrug in response. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door.</p><p>The door creaked as it parted, slowly and cautiously creating a path that led inside. Once it did, Brock froze in place, and stared silently, wide eyed and shocked, as Brian stilled, staring blankly at his own lap. His supplements had moved from its place, likely the result if a sudden tug, and he was seated upright, awake for the first time in the last few days. A miracle had finally happened.</p><p>But, something still felt amiss. Brian didn't look up at them. He stilled, maintaining a deathly silence as he held his breath. He looked like a scared animal, hoping desperately not to be found. But he had, and there was no way around that fact. Brian had nowhere to hide, and it looked like he was terrified.</p><p>Brock could feel his heart swell with worry as the other refused to move for several seconds. Murmurs had picked up behind him, those tall enough to overlook his shoulder quietly relaying the information back to the others. Brian was awake, but his expression was distraught. "Brian..?" Brock tried, barely above a murmur, yet loud enough to hear, but the man did not respond. So, he opted to move instead, standing beside the bed, kneeling ever so slightly to be somewhat level with the other.</p><p>"I thought I heard something on the way here!" Tyler had exclaimed, mostly in realisation, before being hushed by everyone else in the room. Brock had turned briefly to lead the siege, but was quick to turn his attention back to Brian, who clearly needed it the most.</p><p>"Brian? Are you alright?" He asked once more, but the man looked lost. He turned his head with a quiet crunch and a soft whirr, looking directly into Brock's eyes with his own pale hue. Only one eye had survived, and it was brimming with tears. His metal fingers grazed his metallic cheek, which created a scraping sound that made them all cringe. But Brian didn't react to it.</p><p>"B-Brock? Is- Is that you?" His voice was soft and raspy, sounding completely disused. His accent hadn't faltered in the slightest, but he could barely hear it anymore. Brock nodded slowly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.</p><p>"Yeah… that's right. That's me…" he cooed, reassuring Brian of the Intel as though he were a child. He spoke to him softly, trying his best to coax him into a feeling of comfort. But the Irishman only seemed more lost by the prospect. Like he couldn't hear the words. "It's me alright…" Brock reiterated, louder this time, and Brian shot him a smile. It was small, but genuine, and hiding a whole world of hurt.</p><p>Slowly, with twitching fingers, Brian lifted up his hand- his non metallic hand, and let it graze Brock's. Brock let out a pained yet reassuring smile as he held it, and grimaced at the cold. He held his hand with both of his own, hoping to share some warmth. It seemed that he needed that now. In response, Brian let out a soft little sigh, gently latching onto one hand with a weak grip. He had practically no strength left in him, and thinking about it now, Brock was realising that it had been days at least since he had eaten properly.</p><p>Lost in his own little world of relief, worry and a flurry of feelings he failed to recognise, he barely noticed as everyone shuffled around behind him, taking a seat on the chairs that were there. Brian had shifted his gaze, and Brock followed it to see that he was looking Tyler dead in the eyes, before moving to Anthony, then to David, and lastly to Evan. He wondered what was going through his mind right then, but no one said a single word.</p><p>Silence persisted for no less than a minute, before murmurs had begun to pick up from behind him. "How are you feeling there, Brian?" Evan finally spoke out, concern evident in his tone. "It's just- today's the first time you've woken up… we want you to be alright…"</p><p>Brock turned to Brian, and waited silently for him to reply. But he remained unresponsive, his gaze clouded and lost. Brock tugged at his hand gently, and a spark of recognition returned to his eyes, quickly turning to face him once again. "Brian? You okay? Evan wants to know how you're feeling..."</p><p>Brian blinked. He took a moment to connect the dots, before turning towards Evan. "I'm alright… I think..? What happened to me..? What's going on?"</p><p>Confusion flashed in his eyes, along with a sense of fear and vulnerability. Only Brock could feel as his grip tightened ever so slightly, holding onto his hand with more vigour, but the same amount of weakened force. Brock returned the feeling by tightening his own, rubbing gentle circles on the back of his hand with his thumb. He glanced over at everyone else, who shifted their own gaze as they shared a concerned, apprehensive look amongst themselves.</p><p>Eventually, David found himself volunteering to speak. After all, he had been the one to keep close contact with the Government, and the happenings on the field. "Well, you see, Brian…" his accent prevailed in the otherwise still air, and Brian seemed to gain the slightest sense of familiarity at the tone. He was speaking loudly, louder than anyone else had in the room. "You were on the field, and then a grenade went <em> 'boom' </em> right next to ye"</p><p>Brian seemed to be listening, before sighing heavily as he sank back into the pillow of his bed. He held his head in his free hand, and stayed that way for the briefest moment. He mumbled curses under his breath, and Brock barely caught him as his eyes widened, ever so slightly, as though something had caught his attention. He sucked in a breath, and laughed out faintly. Brock wanted to question it so badly, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He had no reason to pry.</p><p>"We were all so worried when the guys told us about your state!" Anthony suddenly spoke, briefly interrupting his thoughts. "We had decided to pay a visit, but God knows what I would have done if you weren't awake right now." His tone was light; joking, even. But Brian regained that lost and cloudy appearance in his eyes. He was gone, but concentrating.</p><p>"I guess we worked as a lucky charm then, huh?" Tyler intercepted, his laughter feigned and forced. "The day we arrived, Brian's magically healed!"</p><p>"I wish we had called you sooner," Evan smiled, and you could hear it in his voice. "We were so worried for him, but all our problems would have been solved if you had booked a flight sooner!"</p><p>Brock tuned in on the banter, but didn't pay any mind to it. He was more invested in Brian himself, taking to heart the details of his face as his expressions changed ever so slightly. His eyes lit up every so often, but he looked lost. Like he didn't know what to do. And Brock found himself somewhat horrified as he noticed, and watched silently as tears began to form in the corners of his surviving eye.</p><p>"Brian-"</p><p>"I'm sorry, lads…" the Irishman laughed bitterly, slipping his hand out of Brock's grip to wipe that tear away. Everyone stilled, almost holding their breath as Brian finally chose to speak. And Brian choked, clearly fighting back every urge he had to cry. "I think being on the field for so long may have damaged my ears… I can't hear you properly..."</p><p>For a second, a brief and fragile moment, a deafening silence had formed. So little of him had survived the blast; that was what Brock had been told. He wondered, for a bone chilling moment, how loud the sounds of warfare may have been, and grimaced visually.</p><p>Brian cracked a smile, then choked a laugh. He whispered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. "I'm sorry…" he said, staring longingly at the ceiling.</p><p>Brock followed his gaze. And as he peered into those eyes, he suddenly knew that they belonged to a broken man. Someone who had suffered the worst of what the world had to give. There was an ache that settled in Brock's heart as he watched him fight, with all the strength he could muster, before starting to cry.</p><p>And, all of a sudden, Brock didn't know how to move. He rose, with no guidance from his conscience, and pulled Brian into a hug. A small one. A tight one. And, without a single word, he poured into him all the love that he could possibly muster; all the care he had to give.</p><p>Brian latched into him, gripping the back of his shirt with one hand and uncomfortably grazing it with the other. Brock could hear the metal creak softly as it moved, trying desperately to bring him closer. So, he pulled him in instead, and held him so close it felt like he was never going to let go. With one hand, Brock ran his fingers through Brian's hair, and with slow, gentle strokes, he calmed him down.</p><p>"It's not your fault…" Brock spoke, loud and firm, but still calm and gentle. "You have nothing to apologise for… I'm sure we'll find a compromise…"</p><p>Brian let out a sob, a sound that rang in the room and stung his very heart. Only a moment later, he nodded, acknowledging the words, though not quite understanding. And for that moment, Brock didn't care that he was in a room filled with people. All he cared about was Brian, and making sure that he knew things were going to be okay.</p><p>For a fleeting second, as the man stilled in his arms, something else came to his attention; a short, fluttering feeling of familiarity that he didn't let himself catch. He knew what it was, but he didn't want it now. He didn't want it ever. Not after everything he had done, and everything that Brian had been put through.</p><p>Even in the time that had passed, no love had been lost. But feelings like those were meant to be discarded.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Forgotten Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Home is where the heart is, but Brian finds his lost and broken. Sometimes, you can't help but lament lost time and wasted chances.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ugly.</p><p>That was what he was now.</p><p><em> Ugly </em>.</p><p>Not that he wasn't before. He had always been ugly. But, had this made him worse, or better?</p><p>Brian stared at himself, at his hideous reflection, in the bathroom mirror. The man that looked back at him was not a sight he wanted to see. How in the world had this happened? How could he have <em> let </em> this happen?</p><p>His eyes trailed down to the sink, and for a moment, he considered to wash his face off, and shed the shame that accompanied it. However, before he could even turn the faucet, his metal hand caught his sight. His arms were fully sleeved now, but even if they weren't, one of them would still be coated in metal- his left arm. He had lost it in the explosion.</p><p>He had also lost his legs, as well as a part of his chest. His body had suffered a heavy loss.</p><p>Worst of all, however, was easily his face.</p><p>It stood out like a sore thumb, the metal shining and glistening underneath the dim lights. Maybe it would have hurt less, if he hadn't turned it on. Maybe it would have been easier if he didn't have a mirror. Would it have hurt any less if he had simply died? He wasn't sure how he was going to live like this.</p><p>As an ugly eyesore to his friends.</p><p>A person who burdened the ones around him.</p><p>Ugly. That was all he was now.</p><p>Incapable of love, or being loved.</p><p>In his newly silenced world, the only sounds he could hear were of his own worrying thoughts, which dragged him further and further into the pits of his own despair. He hated the feeling, he hated the voices, but it was all he had now. There was nothing to distract him from the pain.</p><p>Was there anything left to salvage?</p><p>_____</p><p>The house was vast. Empty. Ghosts of a memory and whispers of a time long forgotten echoed in the room, and lingered in the air for a bone chilling moment. His chest felt heavy as he walked further inside, quietly examining what was once his home.</p><p>Nothing had moved, as far as he could remember. Dust had settled in thick layers wherever it could, which rose up high with his every step. He felt the need to be cautious, and tried his best to not disturb the forces that had made its home in the shell of his house. The place didn't even feel like his anymore. It was barren. Unrecognisable. The comfort had drifted away from him, like a friend he had lost touch with. Was there hope to bring it back?</p><p>Brock and David had seemed eager to accompany him as he made his way home, but Brian had turned down their offer, as gently as he could. He had told them that he needed some time, and that he needed some space. He had things to work out, long before he even dared to turn towards anyone else for help. He had said that he wanted to get used to himself, and get used to the feeling of being home.</p><p>And, while that may have been true, Brian had other motives that he didn't intend to share. Reasons that were far from pleasant, and had his lips sealed completely.</p><p>Above all else, Brian didn't want to be a burden to his friends, or remain in their line of sight for long enough to be despised. At a glance, perhaps he was okay. But the longer he stared at his own reflection, the more he seemed to resent it. He had no justification whatsoever for the thought, but he applied it to his friends nonetheless. He didn't want to be hated. He didn't want to be a burden.</p><p>Quietly, he walked through the house, slowly navigating his way towards his bedroom. The halls had him confused. For a moment, he was lost.</p><p>But then, he found it. The place that had become his space of comfort for years before he was sent away. If walls had ears, these would house his darkest secrets, his deepest fears. It was the bedroom in which he laughed till he cried, and cried till he felt something break, only for laughter to escape. This bedroom was his safest space.</p><p>His eyes trailed over to his bed. It had already been made. On the day of his departure, Brian remembered that he had straightened all the folds, and tucked in all the corners of his blankets as he set them down, buying as much time as he could for himself before having to do. He let himself fall onto the sheets, and undid all of his hard work within a second.</p><p>The surface was soft; softer than the barracks back at the base, and softer than the hospital bed on which he had spent so many nights. He could feel himself sink into the mattresses as he sighed, being pushed deeper and deeper by what felt like the weight of the world. Fatigue tried to claim him early, but he didn't relent. He didn't fall asleep.</p><p>As he laid there on the bed, he stared up deeply at the ceiling, and counted the crevices the way he had always done when he was feeling hazy. The process didn't come to him naturally, for it had been so long since he had done this. At camp, he spent all of his time praying for the best, with none left to lull himself to sleep. At the hospital, he was barely ever conscious, and he looked at the floor more than he did at the ceiling.</p><p>It was only now that he was reclaiming the habit, and it didn't feel right. Fear fluttered in his heart as he continued to look up, which caused his eyes to dart about. He had subconsciously marked out all viable exits, and groaned in mild discomfort once he had realised what he had done. Instincts still demanded that he survive, so he turned on his side, and counted the folds on the sheets instead.</p><p>As he led his gaze up ever so slightly, his phone suddenly caught his eye, and a sinky name got caught on the tip of his tongue; Brock. It had been in this position that he had talked to him every night, for oh so long.</p><p>He let a hand trail up to the phone, for once not caring about which one reached it. His metal hand won the race, and allowed him to hold his phone up slightly, just so that he could see his own reflection on the blacked out screen. His eyes were deep and sunken, completely devoid of life. His hair was a mess, his face was hideous. He wondered if that was why the two had stopped.</p><p>For a long time, Brian remembered, Brock and he had made a silent pact to talk after play sessions, and conversations often bled into hours. They would sometimes talk into the early morning, with Brian trying his best to distract Brock from the time as it got dangerously late, just to hang out a little bit longer. He would notice eventually, and lash out at Brian to go to bed before doing the same. Even then, there would be love in his voice, and concern in his tone; sounds that Brian would cherish for the rest of his life.</p><p>The two of them talked with ease, and it was something Brian looked forward to every night. But one day, that stopped. And the day turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into months. He didn't know what they had, but it was over.</p><p>Brian never let it show, but he was hurt. Deeply, deeply hurt. The two continued to talk without a hitch, but he couldn't help but wonder if he had done something wrong. Late nights had turned into a harrowing hellscape, and the air tensed only with guilt and pain as he tried without success to find out where things had gone so wrong. Was it something he said? Had he come off too strong?</p><p>Had he made him uncomfortable?</p><p>Those questions never stopped haunting him. Brian wanted to know, he wanted to be better.</p><p>But he never could.</p><p>It had come to him as a surprise to see Brock fawn over him the most when he had finally woken up. He exuded a feeling he couldn't recognise, but he knew that it was pained. Like worry, or concern, but somehow deeper. He had held Brian in his arms, and never before had he felt so warm. He wrapped his arms around himself for a moment, and tried to remember the feeling. He wished he could have felt it again.</p><p>But he knew that he couldn't. Perhaps he had missed something, for after all he had done, after all the pain he had put Brock through, after treating him like trash for so long, there was no way that he would hold him. Not like that, not again.</p><p>He had ruined his chances from the very, very start.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Familiar Sounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unlearned habits are to be relearned, and the world of sounds have been reintroduced. The rehabilitation process has begun. But, a whole new hurdle is to be presented.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was one tap. A single sound that rang and lingered in the air the briefest moment, before dissipating completely. Brian kept count. 'One', he told himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, there was another. A sound that was just as loud, but oh so quiet. Brian listened carefully. That was 'two'.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment of silence persisted for barely a second, before a third tap was allowed to sound. Brian kept tabs. That would have been 'three'.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How many was that?" He could hear the smug in his voice. After all, it had been his idea, as well as his initiative. For a brief moment, Brian thought to answer incorrectly; make it seem as though something was still wrong. But he didn't have the will to dishearten his friends. Even if they were as annoying as Evan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tree." The Irishman responded finally, before quietly shrugging his shoulders. Evan cheered slightly, having a moment of celebration, and Brian couldn't help but smile. His Canadian friend was annoying, and the two despised each other when they played, especially when they were on opposite teams. Brian found Evan entitled and privileged, and Evan tended to bully Brian whenever they hung out, often discrediting his ability in a condescending way. Neither would pass up the chance to downplay the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, at the end of the day, the two were still good friends. And Brian knew, better than most, that Evan only had the best interest of his friends at heart. At his very, very core, underneath the guards of nonchalance and annoyance, he was still a good person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that was why today, after miles upon miles of distance separating them both for months on end, Evan's soft chuckle and infectious smile somehow felt uplifting. Brian giggled with him, and for a moment, he felt at peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world was different. Or, at least, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>sounded</span>
  </em>
  <span> so different. Brian couldn't remember ever being this sensitive to noise. Had the hearing aids enhanced his sense of sound? It felt like it had, and he had to treat the world with caution, afraid to let it break. However, he reminded himself that there was no telling how long it had since the damage had been done. It could have easily been a slow process. Once upon a time, maybe his world had been as vibrant as it was today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through an open window, there came a breeze. And with it came the soft, subtle sounds of movement. There were cars outside, and people commuting. There was a whole world out there that he had almost forgotten about when he had first come home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The correct answer was three. But I'll take that as well" Evan reaffirmed, a grin on his face that was intended to annoy. Today, it had failed; Brian did not feel annoyed. In fact, he enjoyed the familiar feeling that it brought back, and it almost felt like a bastion of hope that someday, somehow, things could go back to how they used to be, and that smile could once again turn into something he could take for granted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, pardon me!" Brian feigned anger, before letting himself laugh a little. “That’s just how i speak, you racist bastard!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he was made to wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where would have he been if he hadn’t any friends to help him out?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How far would they have reached if they didn't have to carry his burden?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the room filled itself up with small talk and banter, Brian listened closely to all of the sounds that he could hear. Evan's laughter, the early morning breeze, and the sound of a city alive and bustling. There were so many sounds, so many experiences that he was suddenly reliving. It was perhaps a little bit overwhelming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, none of it could drown out the voices that whispered to him tales of the happiness they could have had if he simply ceased to exist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brian could feel a smile creep up his face as he reclined in his chair, quietly listening as chaos ensued. Brock, David, Tyler, Evan and he were in a call together, hoping to play something that afternoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The call was quiet at first, with everyone being rather reserved, for it was Brian's first game after coming back. Brock and Evan were usually quiet, often bouncing off of someone else for banter, or simply rebutting what someone said. With Brian having no incentive to spark a flame, neither of them were able to react explosively. Not that Evan raged to begin with, but the lack of snark comments and annoying remarks was unsettling to them all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look who </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> last to join…” Evan had sneered, earning a quick “shut the fuck up” from the Irishman. Nothing was really happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, as David and Tyler took opposing stances on a single topic, all hell was starting to break loose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not playing this stupid game!" Tyler stated, loud and clear. His tone was enraged, and Brian could practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> him seething with rage. "Gmod is for losers! We've already milked this game dry!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, oh yeah! Because you don't do that anyways." David spat in response. "Oh ho ho! My name is WildCat, and I do not play overrated or overused content. Welcome to episode 3000 of Among Us: Fortnite edition!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"At least that's fucking relevant!" Tyler rebuked. "No one even gives a shit about Gmod anyways!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just pick a fucking game, lads!" Brian finally interjected, and for a moment, the line went dead. Brian gritted his teeth, and checked his internet connection; it was still strong. The issue was not on his end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine…" Tyler sighed, heavy and absolutely defeated. "Let's play this shit."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of them laughed as Evan let out a little cheer, instating his very own victory. After all, it had been his own suggestion. All they had left to do was wait for what felt like half a decade to set things up, and finally start the game. Brian was ecstatic to annoy his friends once more. That too, in his favourite game mode: Prop Hunt. Not because it was any fun, but because he was somehow good at it, and his friends </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> him because of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brian came into existence as his T-posing character, and a smile grew on his lips as he kept his eyes on his screen, and began to ground himself before starting to move. It felt like a lifetime since he had seen the guy. And, perhaps old habits die hard, because in no time at all, he had turned into the smallest prop he could find and started hopping about the place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh Brian, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>dirty</span>
  </em>
  <span>” David mused, barely seconds after his death, and Brian stifled his own laughter. “They’re never gonna find you. You’ve won this for sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is he in his cheatsy spot?” Brock sighed, and Brian could practically see his eyes roll in mild annoyance. “Is Brian ‘cheating’ again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m just in my Terroriser spot. You fuckers are just mad you can’t get to me.” Brian beamed, loud and proud. “You’re never gonna find me. Y’know what, I’ll give you a hint. Come upstairs!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear shuffling, likely from player models underneath him scampering for high ground. Somewhere along the way, maybe they had found Evan, his only other teammate, for yells and shouts filled the air, as chaos suddenly ensued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll never catch me, you mother fuc-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, he heard it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gunshot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound rang loudly in the air, and it rang repeatedly in Brian's ears. His heart rate picked up, and his breaths turned shallow. Panic crossed his mind, and without thinking, he began to run. His prop revealed itself, and he was shot with no hesitation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Boom</span>
  </em>
  <span> went a shotgun, and gone was his character. A message emerged in the corner of the screen, acting as an obituary to his sudden demise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All it took was one bullet to end his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a small prop, perhaps that was a given. Sounds of protest filled the call, but Brian could hear them no longer. All he could hear was the gunshot, a sound so painfully familiar that it had debilitated him completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on, Brian! You had that!" David yelled, obnoxious and loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So much for content. You didn't even say a word." Evan chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Damn, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> still got them skills!" Tyler beamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Brian could not hear them anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silently, he turned down the game sounds completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, that was right. Brian reminded himself once again. This was just a game, and he was completely safe. No one could hurt him now. No one at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was with Evan, Tyler and Brock. People who he could trust with his own life. He knew that he could rely on them for literally anything in the world. And they wouldn't even dream of hurting him, no matter how much it seemed like they did. There were some things better left unspoken, and for the group, that was usually the care and affection they had for one another. Brian knew that he was cared for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But those thoughts amounted to nothing. To his panicked mind, the only coherent thing he could process was the gunshot. A single sound. A loud sound. A painful sensation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Brian? You alright?" When Brian finally came to, Brock was on the other end of the line, finally asserting himself. And, it was only then when he realised that he had stayed silent for far too long. Tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes as he heaved another breath, but the words were caught in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't- I gotta- I gotta go-" Brian stuttered audibly, before shutting down his PC and quickly leaving the call. He rolled his chair away from the monitor, and let it recline, holding his head in his hands as he held back the urge to scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did he have to be so weak?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Conversation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Three days after Brian abruptly leaves the call, Brock is finally able to get in contact with him and clears some things up.</p><p>That being said, there is still a lot that gets left unspoken</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The soft jingle of a ringtone sounded quietly by his ear, almost dissipating into the empty, void like air. Brock held his breath as he pressed the phone firmly against his face, quietly waiting, maybe even </span>
  <em>
    <span>hoping</span>
  </em>
  <span> for someone to pick it up. But, like always, the ring lasted for a moment too long, and only seconds later, he was put on voicemail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three days after Brian's abrupt departure, not a single member of the group had managed to get in contact with their friend. Maybe something had come up, maybe he needed some time for himself, and maybe, just maybe, he was perfectly fine, all by himself. The people in the call that day, namely Tyler, David, Evan and Brock, suspected that he was angry with them, or they had said or done something to upset him. Maybe, they had pulled on a trigger they couldn't actually see. It seemed like the best course of action to give the man some time to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, after three days of absolutely no contact, Brock had started to get worried, and rightfully so. He busied himself with work, as much as he could, but not even the strain and stress could distract from the harrowing worry that had bored a hole into his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had sent Brian a good number of texts, asking him if he was alright, and even apologising outright about ignorantly doing something wrong. He had barely caught the moment his messages went from read to delivered, before remaining at sent for the remainder of their time apart. Brock felt a little bit bad about resorting to phone calls so easily, but there was nothing reassuring him that the man in question wasn't dead. He called often, but not rapidly, leaving a reasonable amount of time between every one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was odd for Brian to have disappeared like this. And it didn't help that the last time he had done this, he had been drafted overseas, to a battleground where he could have very easily died. Brock remembered the casual conversations they used to share years ago, when they were still in college, with Brian often bringing up the topic of family backgrounds and training. It must have been hard for him, being dragged away only a few months after he had moved so much closer to all of his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking about it now, Brian didn't live too far away from Brock. At least, not right now. The only thing stopping him from visiting was his innate respect for the man's privacy. The Irishman was an adult, mostly capable of taking care of himself. But, as he stared into the blank screen of his phone, the temptation to head on over began to grow. There was still a few hours left before the sun went down completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a heavy sigh, and some level of resignation, he typed in the number one more time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ringtone brought about a sickening feeling as he listened to it again. It was repetitive. Far too repetitive. The familiar rhythm began to stir his anxiety, and it made him feel sick to the stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, when he heard a click from the other side, he was almost ready to jump right out of his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a tiredness to his voice. A heavy undertone that made him sound exhausted. Brock held onto the single word, silently studying the intonations as he spoke, his syllables almost slurred into one another. Brian had a terrible sleeping schedule; that was no secret. Maybe he had simply skimped out on sleep?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, buddy. We haven't heard from you in a while, so I was getting kinda worried. How are you doing, man?" Brock spoke with a near casual tone, almost alarmed by how relaxed he seemed. He could barely pick up on the sigh that sounded from the other side, followed by a soft thud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine, don't worry about me." Brian spoke quietly, and Brock could only sigh in response. His voice was a little bit raspy, almost like he had been crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure? You haven't been responding to any of us, is everything okay?" Brock hated being so blunt, but it felt necessary at this point. "I'm always here to talk to you, you know that, right? If you ever need someone, I'm right here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course you are." Brian stifled a laugh. "You're always there for everyone. Except me apparently." Accusation leaked easily into his voice, and Brock paused, somewhat startled. "Like, seriously. When was the last time you called? Do you remember how many texts you left unchecked before I eventually gave up? Like, too many to count, man!" There was a raw honesty in his tone of voice, and that was when the raspy tiredness suddenly began to make sense in Brock's disgruntled mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brian was more than likely hungover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brock didn't want to accuse his friend of being intoxicated, but there was absolutely no other way Brian would be so open about something that had hurt him in the past. As loud and open as he often tended to be, Brock knew better than anyone else that Brian liked to keep things hidden, and his feelings lowkey. He would spend weeks with the brightest smile on his face, even in the face of adversity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, the only reason Brock even knew any of this in the first place was because he had seen Brian drunk in the past. It was only then, at a night out with the lads, that the younger man had let down his guard, and ranted openly about the troubles in his life. Losses in the family, conflicts with people he would rather not name. It had put into perspective a lot of outbursts and exhaustion that the crew had picked up on in the preceding days, but never got around to pointing out. If that was not a reason to believe that Brian was drunk, Brock didn't know what was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, what now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of Brian having alcohol in his system alone was a huge matter of concern to Brock, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>if </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was a miniscule amount. First came the question of </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had opted for such a drastic measure, followed by the question of </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything to hurt himself in that delirious state. How were his systems holding up under the influence? And was this something his organs could manage? Panic rose in Brock's chest as he pictured Brian in his house, alone and upset, turning to alcohol instead of his friends. This had to have been a drastic turn, even for him. An Irishman who fit the stereotype so painfully well. This couldn't have possibly been normal, and Brock wracked his brain hard, trying to figure out a cause. Had the trauma hit him too hard?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then came the awful, sinking feeling of guilt that rushed back to him at a rapid pace. Concern for Brian quickly turned into shame as he quietly processed the words that had been said. Back in the day, the two used to talk a lot in private, starting in the late evenings and going on until one of them fell asleep. The warmth that Brian could send gushing through Brock's chest was an incredibly wonderful feeling, and it had scared him away. Eventually, he began to cut all ties with Brian, afraid to find feelings in places it shouldn't exist. It had been unfair on them both, but mostly to the younger man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I used to have something to look forward to, you know. And now, I don't." Brian's words cut through his thoughts, and it was evident that Brock had missed half of what he had said. His pained rambles hitched repeatedly, and his voice grew softer still, choking down the sorrow. It sounded like it hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brock fought against the tears that welled up in his eyes, undoubtedly more sorry than he could ever convey with words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Brian, I didn't-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I used to like talking to you…" Brian interjected, his voice getting even quieter. He was barely heard as he spoke. "I always looked forward to talking into the late night, after everyone had left. Why did that have to stop? Was it something I did?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brock swallowed hard. "N-no. You never did anything wrong." A faint, stifled chuckle sounded from the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then, why </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> it stop?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brock didn't have an answer. At least, not one that either of them would accept. His silence spoke volumes, and it took a bone chilling moment for Brian to decide that he was running out of patience. "So it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, wasn't it?" He spat, and Brock could feel his own heart starting to break underneath the weight of his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please don't say that!" Brock pleaded, guilty. "It- it wasn't your fault, I swear! It's just- I just-" A pause. One that was almost suspiciously long. He considered his options, deciding between telling the truth and simply lying, trying desperately to find something in between. "I hadn't realised how much it meant to you…" he finally admitted. "I thought I was being a bother, so I tried to give you some space."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What made you think that?" Brian whispered, a soft sniffle barely making it to the other side of the line. "Did I annoy you too much? Did I cause you distress? Did I make you upset?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not at all." Brock reassured, practically smiling into his words. "I loved every moment we spent together. Every word, every game. No matter how mad I got. It was never at you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another soft sniffle. "Really?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, really." Brock reiterated, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he hoped that Brian had accepted the response. He could only imagine what was going through his head right now, his decisions swayed and his emotions vulnerable. All he wanted to do was hold onto his friend, to shield him from the doubt that shrouded his mind, and the brutality that reigned rampant in the world outside. He wished he were closer, able to comfort him more steadily than his hesitant, fragile words, fully capable of incapacitating them both if he was even the slightest bit careless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When I was on the frontlines" Brian suddenly began to speak, his tone steadier than it had been just moments prior. "I often pictured your faces. All of your faces. Your laughter rang in my ears, and it drowned out the gunshots." There was a pause. "Eventually, it became the only thing I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> hear, as it turns out, because I need this weird machine to help me out now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brock knew about the hearing aids. Evan had looked so pleased with himself after the devices had arrived, and it was a mental image no one could have wiped out of their minds. It had been a tedious few weeks getting them in place, Brock had been told, but it was undoubtedly worth it. He couldn't help but smile as he remembered how Evan had described Brian's excitement when the devices had begun to work, and the shameless, unabashed glee that had spread itself across his face in the form of a smile when he had heard Evan's voice for the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>'You should have taken a picture,' </span>
  </em>
  <span>someone had joked. All of them had laughed, and it wasn't out of mockery, but more so in celebration. This simple feat was a testament to the fact that the damage was lasting, but not completely irreparable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Brock remained silent, afraid to miss a single word. There was so much he could pick up from this conversation, so much that he hadn't known before, but could learn tonight. If he couldn't be a good friend, the least he could do was be a good listener. And listen he did, for Brian was an incredibly vocal drunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When things got rough on the battlefield, I thought of all of you guys. Of coming back, and living normally." Brian added, his words slurring until his sentences were almost unrecognisable. The fatigue may have been getting to him slowly. "I remember being excited to talk to you again. But then, I remembered that we didn't, and it always made me sad."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words came to Brock like a sharp jab in the side. Was this a burden he had been made to carry into battle? Brock would have never forgiven himself if Brian had passed away with those pain ridden thoughts in his mind. Had he always been this close to his heart?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We could- we could pick that up again." Brock suggested sheepishly, his decision dragged by guilt, and ready for rejection. "We could start talking again, just me and you, like we used to back then. Starting now, until you fall asleep."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brian paused, the line falling dead silent for a moment. "I'd like that…" he murmured, and Brock heaved out a sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then, we can do that." Brock smiled, "You can talk to me. Tell me whatever you need to. And I'll be with you, from now until the end of time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's some cheesy bullshit" Brian chuckled, and that soft sound warmed Brock's heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's some cheesy stuff, but I mean it. I really do." Brock whispered into the phone, sealing every word with a promise. He wouldn't bail on his friend. Not this time.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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